Titus Andronicus

Titus Andronicus is believed to be the earliest tragedy by William Shakespeare, ca. 1584-1590, about a fictional Roman general in a cycle of revenge against the queen of the Goths. It is Shakespeare's bloodiest and most violent play.

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In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

Titus Andronicus, scene i

Variant line: Here grow no damned grudges, here are no storms,

Content thee, prince; I will restore to theeThe people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.

Titus Andronicus, scene i

The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!Well, bury him, and bury me next.

Titus Andronicus, scene i

My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last;Dissemble all your griefs and discontents.You are but newly planted in your throne;Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,Upon a just survey, take Titus' part,And so supplant you for ingratitude,(Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,)Yield at entreats; and then let me alone:I'll find a day to massacre them all,And raze their faction and their family,The cruel father and his traitorous sons,To whom I sued for my dear son's life;And make them know, what 't is to let a queenKneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. —Come, come, sweet Emperor. — Come, Andronicus. —Take up this good old man, and cheer the heartThat dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;She is a woman, therefore may be won;She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.What, man! more water glideth by the millThan wots the miller of; and easy it isOf a cut loaf to steal a shive.

Demetrius, scene i

Madam, though Venus govern your desires,Saturn is dominator over mine:What signifies my deadly-standing eye,My silence and my cloudy melancholy,My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurlsEven as an adder when she doth unrollTo do some fatal execution?No, madam, these are no venereal signs:Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.

O happy man! they have befriended thee.Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceiveThat Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no preyBut me and mine: how happy art thou, then,From these devourers to be banished!

Titus Andronicus, scene i

If there were reason for these miseries,Then into limits could I bind my woes:When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;Then must my earth with her continual tearsBecome a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,But like a drunkard must I vomit them.Then give me leave, for losers will have leaveTo ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

Even now I curse the day, — and yet, I think,Few come within the compass of my curse, —Wherein I did not some notorious ill;As kill a man, or else devise his death;Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;Set deadly enmity between two friends; Make poor men's cattle break their necks;Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,And bid the owners quench them with their tears.Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful thingsAs willingly as one would kill a fly;And nothing grieves me heartily indeed,But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

Aaron, scene i

If there be devils, would I were a devil,To live and burn in everlasting fire,So I might have your company in hell,But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

Aaron, scene i

Come, come, be every one officiousTo make this banquet; which I wish may proveMore stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.